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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29707461">the cold comfort poems</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanficsandthings/pseuds/fanficsandthings'>fanficsandthings</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>X-Men - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:20:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,303</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29707461</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanficsandthings/pseuds/fanficsandthings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>she’s an empath, and he definitely has a big jumble of feelings. **post-apocalypse timeline**</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ben Hardy/Reader, Ben Hardy/You, Warren Worthington III &amp; Reader, Warren Worthington III/Original Female Character(s), Warren Worthington III/Reader, Warren Worthington III/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. basic mutant compassion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>okay this seemed like a good idea when i started writing it but the more i write the more stupid it seems, but i already wrote the whole thing so might as well publish it lmao.  each section opens with a poem and each chapter is a different kind of poetry (stupid, i know). enjoy anyways </p><p>warnings: therapy???</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>The luck of God is in two strangers meeting,<br/>
But the gates of hell are in the city street<br/>
or him whose soul is not in his own keeping<br/>
And love a silver string upon his feet.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>by T. D. O’Bolger, <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.bartleby.com%2F300%2F830.html&amp;t=YTQzNjVmZDAyMWVkNmM4ZTNiNzMyNTM4ODk3ODI2OTY1OWI5NGZhYSwwYzY1ZDJiNTNjN2NlYmRkZDdiMzlkNmY0YmZjYThiNjdlNjQ3MWMz&amp;ts=1605587259">“The Counsels of O’Riordan, the Rannmaker”</a></em>
</p><p>You had gotten into poetry lately. Specifically super old poetry. Mostly because old poetry was mostly word vomit, but it still conveyed a clear emotion. Reading poetry gave you some sort of a nostalgic romantic feeling, and the landscape of the X-Mansion amplified it.</p><p>The halls of the X-Mansion were almost completely empty at this time of year. Most of the students had gone home for the summer, and teachers went on extended vacations. Students who stayed during the summer generally hadn’t told their family they were mutants, had family that didn’t understand, or simply didn’t have a family.</p><p>You were an empath, someone who can feel other people’s feelings. You had used your powers to create a private therapy practice for yourself. Most people came to you to sort out their feelings, and being an empath made that pretty easy.</p><p>You had met the Professor years ago, and you had worked together a few times since then. He found you through Cerebro and invited you to come to the school with some especially troubled students. He usually called when he had a student he couldn’t handle, and that wasn’t often.</p><p>The mutant that the Professor had asked you to help was named Warren. He had daunting, metal wings and a constant dark look on his face. For the most part he felt angry when you saw him. Sometimes he felt guilty or anxious, but mostly angry.</p><p>“He’s not a student,” the Professor had told you. “He worked with Apocalypse, and he was just looking for a safe place for mutants. And I haven’t been able to get through to him.”</p><p>You could see why the Professor was having some trouble getting through to Warren. The ancient mutant Apocalypse almost killed the entire human race a few months ago. But still, you tried to keep an open mind.</p><p>“You need to seem approachable to him,” cautioned the Professor. “Most people here avoid him or are scared of him. You need to be completely unbiased.”</p><p>That’s all the Professor had told you before he left with Hank to visit Erik for a few weeks.</p><p>So that’s what you were doing. You spent most of your time simply trying to be in the same room as Warren so you could know how he was feeling. The winged mutant proved to be elusive, obviously wanting to spend most of his time alone. It didn’t help that he was almost completely nocturnal.</p><p>He spent a lot of time in the library. That’s where you found the old poetry books. You assumed because it was empty most of the time. The shelves were covered in a thin layer of dust and the whole place smelled like old books, but he sat in there anyways. He didn’t read; he mostly sat in an old chair in front of foggy windows that let in muted light, looking out at the X-Mansion courtyard.</p><p>You wanted to wait till Warren approached you, but it seemed unlikely that he would. You spent a lot of time trying to simply make him comfortable with your presence, but you thought that wouldn’t be enough. Sometimes healing was uncomfortable, just like sometimes you have to rebreak a bone to reset it properly. So you approached him one day in the cafeteria.</p><p>“Warren, right?” you asked, plastering a friendly smile on your face.</p><p>The mutant looked up at you with stormy blue eyes. He was confused and even a little flustered. You could tell he wasn’t used to people approaching him. “Uh- yeah.” he responded quietly. He subconsciously folded his wings behind his back.</p><p>“I’m y/n,” you said cheerfully, pretending not to notice the knives he had for feathers. “I just got here like a week ago and you’re the only person I’ve seen here so far.”</p><p>Warren blinked. “Hi…”</p><p>You smiled again. “Can I sit?”</p><p>“Uh-“</p><p>“Thanks,” you said, sliding into the cafeteria chair next to him. “So how long have you been here?”</p><p>Warren didn’t make eye contact with you. He was mildly annoyed and a little uncomfortable. “Six months.” he said quietly.</p><p>“Are you a student?” you asked, keeping an upbeat tone.</p><p>“No.” he said flatly. He was still angry. Overwhelmingly so. You could feel it even when you weren’t in the same room as him. It wasn’t isolated to his chest, like most anger; it reverberated throughout his whole body.</p><p>His burning anger clouded your thoughts. You could understand why someone in his position would be sad or guilty or scared, but you couldn’t understand how a person could be so angry. “Sorry, but, why are you so… so angry?”</p><p>Warren’s face turned sour and and he stood up suddenly. “What the hell?” he hissed.</p><p>“I’m an empath-“ you started.</p><p>“Why would you read me?” His wings spread out behind him, and they loomed over you intimidatingly.</p><p>“I- I can’t help it-“</p><p>“Well help it,” he spat. He glared at you for a split second before storming off.</p><p>That could’ve gone better. But it was a start. Though you had worked with dozens of other mutants over the years, none of them were the same. Some mutants were open and willing to talk, other had to be pushed a little more.</p><p>Warren was obviously one of these mutants. A mutant that needed and wanted help but didn’t know how to receive it.</p><p>One of the reasons you didn’t like staying at the Mansion during the school year was because you could feel everyone’s emotions all the time. It’s confusing and tiring, feeling the emotions of 50 teenagers at once.</p><p>Feeling other people’s emotions so deeply was exhausting. Warren’s room was somewhere near yours, you could tell because you could still faintly feel his anger when you laid in bed. You tossed and turned that night, trying your best to ignore it, but somehow you couldn’t.</p><p>Out of nowhere, there was a tinge of sadness, something you hadn’t from Warren yet. You got up out of bed mostly out of curiosity, but also to check if he was okay. People feel emotions more deeply at night when they’re alone.</p><p>Warren was in the kitchen. He rested elbow on the counter and his chin in his palm. You could still feel the underlying anger, but he was sad.</p><p>You softly knocked on the kitchen door. “Warren?”</p><p>His head shot up and his eyes focused on you, but he didn’t say anything.</p><p>You looked over him gently. “Are you okay?” you asked softly.</p><p>He broke eye contact. “Yeah,” he said absentmindedly.</p><p>“Warren, you know I can feel your feelings,” you sighed. “I know your lying.”</p><p>He became the a little bit more angry. “Yeah, it’s kind of annoying,” he huffed.</p><p>“If I could’ve chosen my power I would’ve chosen something cool, like- like flight,” you said with a playful grin.</p><p>Warren’s expression softened the slightest bit.</p><p>“But being an empath is what I have to work with,” you continued. “So I know your emotions whether you like it or not. Actually whether <em>I</em> like it or not.”</p><p>Warren made a quiet <em>pft</em> sound.</p><p>“So if you need anything,” you finished sympathetically.</p><p>Warren paused. You could tell he didn’t really know what to say. As usual, he was conflicted. He couldn’t tell if he should feel thankful or exposed. He desperately wanted help, but he still didn’t know how to accept it.</p><p>You exhaled, literally knowing exactly how he was feeling. “Good night, Warren.”</p><p>“Good night…”</p><p>~</p><p>
  <em>He had seen my face by magic in a mirror that they make<br/>
For those rulers proud and tragic by their lotus-covered lake,<br/>
Where there hangs a pale-blue tiling on an alabaster wall.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>by Lord Dunsany, <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Ftwilightswarden.wordpress.com%2F2011%2F04%2F10%2Fthe-memory-a-poem-by-lord-dunsany-1878-1957%2F&amp;t=YWM3Y2ZkZDU4NmIwYTgwMmZiOWJhZmQxZDUzMDQyYjY0OWZiN2NmNyxhMDNmZDA5Yjc5ZjI4NDA2NmMyN2YzMmU3NWM0YjczOGY3NGFkNjVl&amp;ts=1605893834">“The Memory”</a></em>
</p><p>“He doesn’t exactly want my help,” you told the Professor over the phone. You were sitting in the courtyard with an open book in your lap under one of the overhanging trees. The Professor had called you to check in and you told him the truth; that Warren needed a lot of help but wasn’t very into receiving it.</p><p>“Erik says hi,” mentioned the Professor. You knew the Professor when he taught with Magneto at the X-Mansion, when they were fighting, and when Erik decided to form Genosha.</p><p>It was obvious to you why the Professor and Magneto always fought. Magneto was cold and good at feeling the bare minimum amount of emotions, while the Professor felt his emotions deeply and for everyone. Erik mostly left emotion out of his decisions, while Charles used emotion to drive his.</p><p>However you couldn’t explain why they always came back to each other. They had bitter, bitter fights and could stay angry at each other for years, but they’d always maintain a mutual caring for each other. That’s the thing about emotions. They’re unreasonable and defy logic.</p><p>“Professor-“</p><p>“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” reassured the Professor. “It’s your superpower.” And he hung up with a quiet beep.</p><p>You sighed. Being a therapist wasn’t your superpower, feeling other people’s emotions was your superpower. The hard part was figuring out why people felt the way they did.</p><p>Suddenly, a winged figure came down from the sky and landed mere feet away from you. His wings spread as he crossed his arms over his chest and looked at you sternly. You noticed a scar above his eyebrow for the first time.</p><p>“So you’re not new here,” Warren stated.</p><p>You sighed and readjusted in your seat. “No, I’m not.” But then again you never said you were.</p><p>“Figures,” Warren scoffed.</p><p>“Let me start over,” you started gently. “I’m y/n, I’m an empath, and I’ve worked with the Professor for a few years now and I’m staying here until he gets back.”</p><p>Warren’s expression didn’t change.</p><p>You huffed impatiently. “This is the part where you introduce yourself.”</p><p>If you were a saint, you would continuously be the most kind person to him. But every time he saw you his expression hardened and he closed himself off, and it was getting old. So you had to take a different approach.</p><p>Warren blinked, obviously not expecting the advance. “I’m Warren.”</p><p>“Yeah, I knew that.”</p><p>Warren rubbed the back of his neck. “I… did something last year that wasn’t so great so I needed a place to stay,” he murmured.</p><p>He made it sound like he shoplifted from a gas station. Of course, you knew you weren’t getting the full story with the Apocalypse thing. It seemed as if he didn’t deserve whatever happened to him, as if he used to be happy, carefree, and upbeat.</p><p>“Sit down,” you said, gesturing the the spot across from you.</p><p>Warren looked upwards, like he was contemplating if he should or not. His emotions softened before he took a seat.</p><p>You studied his face for a second. “Now why are you so angry?”</p><p>“Um-“ He looked like he was searching for words before he responded standoffishly. “Why do you care?”</p><p>“Because,” you sighed. “I can feel everything you feel, and you feel pretty miserable.” You paused for a split second. “And I want to help.”</p><p>Warren broke eye contact. “I’m not used to- people… like-“</p><p>“Caring?”</p><p>He shook his head. “No- well yeah, but also talking to me unprompted, you know… willingly.”</p><p>“You’re not used to people not being afraid of you?”</p><p>Warren nodded. “Yeah, that’s it.”</p><p>There was a tinge of sadness in his chest, and you felt for him. Literally. “I’m sorry,” you said softly.</p><p>He kept is eyes downcast. “It’s okay,” he said under his breath.</p><p>For the first time, he felt more upset than anything else. You could tell that it bothered him that people were afraid of him, and he was ashamed of what he he did.</p><p>“You gotta work with me here,” you coaxed. “I can help you, I can tell you how you feel, but I can’t fix it until you tell me why.”</p><p>Warren was unsure of himself. “Well I don’t know why.”</p><p>“Okay,” you started slowly, trying to figure out the right thing to say. “When I asked you to sit down you were surprised. Why?”</p><p>Warren thought for a second. “Because… you’re the first person to treat me like- a person in a long time.”</p><p>You paused. There was no correct response to that. You could tell him that you felt bad for him and that you’re sorry that happened to him, but it would do little good.</p><p>“You know you didn’t deserve that, right?” you soothed. “No matter what you did.”</p><p>Warren shrugged. “Well I kinda did something really wrong,” he muttered quietly.</p><p>You shook your head. He was missing the point. “Warren, you’re not a bad person,” you started sympathetically.</p><p>Warren exhaled softly. He was doubtful. “You’ve talked to me, like, twice.”</p><p>Well, that much was true. But then again, you could feel his genuine emotions. He wasn’t a bad person; he was a good person who went down the wrong path.</p><p>You gave Warren a smile. “You’re just gonna have to trust me on that, then.”</p><p>You placed a hand on his, and he flinched a little at the sudden contact. You immediately pulled back. Maybe that was a little too much for him.</p><p>“Just think about it.” You stood up to tell him you were leaving. He needed some space. “Just think about why you feel the way you do. Start with why you feel sad, alright?”</p><p>Warren thought to himself before nodding. “O-okay.”</p><p>~</p><p>
  <em>With wine we dull our souls and careful strains of art;<br/>
</em>
  <em>Our cups are polished skulls round which the roses twine<br/>
</em>
  <em>None dares to look at Death who leers and lurks apart.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>by Ernest Dowson, <a href="https://href.li/?https://poetry.elcore.net/CatholicPoets/Dowson/Dowson49.html">“Carthusians”</a></em>
</p><p>The next morning, you went to the library to read again. It was becoming a routine. At first, you followed Warren into the library, but then you started going, whether he was there or not.</p><p>As usual, you dusted off an old book and opened it to the first page. Most of the Professor’s collection had been untouched for years.</p><p>Today’s poetry seemed to mirror your current situation. Xavier had sent you a file on Warren, entailing his time with Apocalypse. The name Warren had taken when serving Apocalypse was Death.</p><p>In his picture, he looked focused and dangerous, as if he had a mission to complete. He wore full body armor and tattoos lined his face; now all that was left of that version of him were the metal wings.</p><p>“Y/n?”</p><p>Warren had slipped into the library. You knew he would; he comes every day. It was just a matter of time. He was a little anxious, and it seemed like he was looking for you.</p><p>“Yeah?” you answered, looking up from your book.</p><p>“About what you said yesterday,” he started slowly. “I was thinking about how to word it.”</p><p>You nodded. “Did you come up with something?”</p><p>“Well-“ he paused, as if there was something he didn’t want to say. Sometimes you wished you were psychic, just to make things easier. “I’ve lost a lot of things. Things that I can’t get back,” he summarized. “I guess that’s why I’m sad. I can’t go back to how things were.”</p><p>You closed your book. You weren’t exactly sure if he was referring to his time with Apocalypse or something else entirely. Either way, he was ashamed of his time with Apocalypse, so much so he didn’t want you to discuss it or to know about it.</p><p>Your eyes went downcast as you made a pitying expression. You started to speak, but Warren cut you off.</p><p>“What do you know?” he interjected defensively.</p><p>Your head snapped up. Warren was studying your face. He knew that you knew something.</p><p>“What did Xavier tell you?” he questioned.</p><p>You exhaled slowly. “He told me about Apocalypse.”</p><p>Warren made a <em>tsk</em> noise as he looked away from you. He was embarrassed, as if you would think less of him because he served Apocalypse.</p><p>Everyone had heard when Apocalypse happened. It was broadcasted 24/7, and it was the only thing the news covered for weeks. While most people were panicked, bracing for the worst, you couldn’t even be bothered to turn on the TV. You knew the X-Men would handle the situation. They always did.</p><p>Warren paced back and forth in front of you. “You don’t understand. I.. I wasn’t trying to-” he started shakily. “I didn’t want to hurt people- I mean I wasn’t mind controlled but-“</p><p>“Warren,” you interrupted calmly. “Slow down.”</p><p>He paused and looked up at you in anticipation.</p><p>“I know you’re not a bad person. You don’t have to convince me,” you started. “I know things aren’t completely black and white. I know there’s more to the story.”</p><p>Warren was surprised more than anything. You suspected it was because he wasn’t used to being treated with basic kindness.</p><p>“Why don’t you tell me what happened?” you asked gently.</p><p>Warren rubbed the back of his neck. “I lost my wings,” he said quietly. “I had these great, angel-like wings and I lost them, and- and I didn’t know who I was without them.”</p><p>He was sad when he was talking about his wings.</p><p>“Apocalypse offered to give me wings, and at the time I would do anything to get my wings back-” Warren couldn’t look you in the eye. His voice broke a little at the end.</p><p>You stood up and cautiously walked over to where Warren was standing.</p><p>“Anyways that was all I was thinking about, how I can’t really go back,” he continued.</p><p>Warren was carrying so much. He was sad that he had lost his wings, but he also felt guilty about taking wings from Apocalypse. He felt guilty about doing what he needed to survive. And it seemed like that wasn’t the half of it.</p><p>“Warren,” you sighed. You wrapped his arms around him, and he froze, unsure of what to do.</p><p>You pressed your chest against his, and his wings fluttered nervously. You felt his emotions really deeply; his sadness, his guilt, his anger- everything. For a split second it seemed as if he was feeling affection.</p><p>~</p><p>
  <em>Let us be glad to have forgot<br/>
That roses fade, and loves are not,<br/>
As dreams, immortal, though they seem<br/>
Almost as real as a dream.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>by Arthur Synoms, <a href="https://href.li/?https://www.bartleby.com/334/512.html">“Stella Maris”</a></em>
</p><p>For the first time since you got to the X-Mansion, you fell asleep easily. There were no raging emotions keeping you awake.</p><p>But then there was a quiet knock on your door.</p><p>You rolled over in bed, still mostly asleep. “Mm?” you called out, keeping your eyes closed.</p><p>“Y/n?” said a quiet voice. Your door was pushed the slightest bit open. Warren was standing in the doorway. Despite his broad stature and towering wings, he peaked his head in the doorway meekly.</p><p>You rubbed your eyes and sat up in bed. Honestly, you just wanted to go back to bed, but you came to the mansion specifically to help him. “Warren…”</p><p>“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he murmured shyly. He took a step backwards.</p><p>“No, you’re okay, what’s up?” you reassured. </p><p>He shifted. “I didn’t want to be alone…”</p><p>You sleepily scooted over in bed, and Warren hesitantly came over and sat down next to you. One of his wings barely brushed against your arm. You noticed he was wringing his hands in anticipation.</p><p>“Did you want to tell me something?” you asked outright. You worked with people all day every day, and you had gotten pretty good at picking up on the little things.</p><p>Warren’s head shot up. He was going to ask how you knew, but he stopped himself. “I’m angry because people don’t treat me like a person anymore,” he said slowly. “People look at me like- like I’m damaged, or scary, or- like…” His voice trailed off and he glanced over you for help.</p><p>“They treat you like you’re one thing, and that makes you upset. They don’t understand everything you’ve been through,” you clarified for him.</p><p>Warren nodded a little in agreement.</p><p>“A lot of people won’t understand,” you tried to explain. “A lot of people don’t see the shades of grey. And that’s okay, you don’t have to justify yourself to other people.”</p><p>Warren looked over at you curiously.</p><p>You placed a hand on his shoulder, your arm brushing against one of his metal wings. “If people want to understand, they’ll work on it. If they don’t, they won’t.”</p><p>He studied your face, as if he was trying to figure out how you had come to see all the shades of grey, as if he was trying to find out what you had been through. “Thank you,” he whispered genuinely. “I feel like you know me better than I know me.”</p><p>“That’s because I do,” you teased.</p><p>Warren laughed. The sound reverberated through the room, and you felt a quick beat of happiness in his chest. It was the first time you felt that from him.</p><p>“It’s late, Warren,” you sighed. You sleepily hooked your arm around his and rested your head on his shoulder.</p><p>He was startled, maybe even a little nervous, as if he didn’t want to do something to scare you off.</p><p>“You should go to bed,” you murmured, already half-asleep yourself.</p><p>“Okay,” he whispered. He was trying to decipher whatever soft, mushy feelings that were bubbling inside him. He wanted to ask you, but you were already asleep.</p><p>~</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. storm and all her insight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>I’d like to open the window,<br/>release a wounded bird<br/>nursed to health.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>by Margaret Hasse, <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.poetryfoundation.org%2Fpoems%2F145618%2Fafter-his-diagnosis&amp;t=ZDUwODk3ZGM5OGM5NzIwMDNjY2RmNWE4YjhlYmViYjAxYzJhYWZkYywwOWMyOTcyYzU1ODQ3N2Q4ZTJhMjkwMTRhYjkwZDhhMjM5MGZjNTJl&amp;ts=1608271742">“After His Diagnosis”</a></em>
</p>
<p>“Hey,” you greeted softly, taking a seat next to Warren in the cafeteria. “Are you okay?”</p>
<p>He was in some sort of emotional distress. It felt like anxiety. It was so strong you could feel it from across the X-Mansion. You had no idea what he was anxious about, but it was definitely super bothering him.</p>
<p>Warren barely looked up at you. “Uh- yeah, I’m good.”</p>
<p>You almost rolled your eyes at him. Honestly, you didn’t have to be an empath to see that something was bothering him. He was sitting alone in the cafeteria, staring off into space. He wasn’t even eating.</p>
<p>“Does lying to me benefit you in any way?” you asked sarcastically.</p>
<p>He paused. “Sorry.” He shifted his wings slightly, signaling that he was opening up to you.</p>
<p>“Don’t apologize. What’s up?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” he sighed. “Or at least give me a minute to think about it.”</p>
<p>Well at least he was making progress. He was trying to think about what was upsetting him. The past week had been good- he was opening up, slowly but surely. </p>
<p>“I just… when school starts again I won’t have anywhere to go,” murmured Warren.</p>
<p>You gave him a half hearted grin. “Charles is hardly going to kick you out.”</p>
<p>Warren shrugged. “Yeah, well I tried to kill a lot of the students here.”</p>
<p>“Good point.”</p>
<p>Something told you that having a place to sleep wasn’t the only thing bothering Warren. Part of it could be your powers as an empath, another part could be that you made a living off of listening to people’s problems. So you could tell when something was bothering someone.</p>
<p>Some of the top things clients cited as a cause of their problems were relationship issues, job stress, and familial issues. The first two didn’t seem to be a problem, so that left familial issues. You figured it could be a miss though; Warren wasn’t a typical patient.</p>
<p>“Why don’t you tell me about your parents?”</p>
<p>Warren was caught off guard. A rush of adrenaline was released, as if he was facing an attacker. His fight or flight instinct was about to kick in.</p>
<p>“I- I don’t want to,” he said, avoiding eye contact.</p>
<p>You made a quiet <em>pft </em>sound. At least he was being honest. “Well why not?”</p>
<p>Warren shrugged. He was conflicted for sure. Over the past week he was able to talk about Apocalypse and his wings, but he was still closed off about most things. His family being one of them. </p>
<p>You figured something had happened between him and his parents. He mentioned being on his own since he was thirteen, but when you asked why he shut his mouth.</p>
<p>Warren briefly glanced over at you. “I just don’t.”</p>
<p>“Are they dead?” you asked bluntly.</p>
<p>“What- no!” he exclaimed. “They- they live in New York! They’re not dead!”</p>
<p>So far, the best way to get through to Warren was to be blunt with him, to put him in a position where he was a little bit out of his comfort zone. He did want to talk about how he felt, it seemed like he didn’t enjoy constantly moping, but it also seemed like he didn’t know how.  It made sense that he didn’t know how to talk about his feelings. No one taught him to.</p>
<p>You studied his face. “Warren-“</p>
<p>He was getting irritated. “It’s nothing.”</p>
<p>“Ookay,” you sighed. You knew if you backed off he’d talk to you when he was ready.</p>
<p>“Okay, I left when I started growing wings and I haven’t been back since, that’s it,” he huffed.  </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” you said softly.  </p>
<p>Warren glanced over at you. He was upset, but at the same time he seemed to find your lack of advice suspicious. “What is it?” he sighed.</p>
<p>“When was the last time you talked to them?” you asked gently.</p>
<p>Warren quickly shook his head. “No, I’m not going to call them-“</p>
<p>“Why not? I bet they miss you. People change, you know-“</p>
<p>“Look, they didn’t accept me for who I was,” Warren interrupted defensively. “And it took me a long time but I learned to accept myself even if my parents didn’t.”</p>
<p>You gave him a half-hearted smile. You were sort of proud of him. </p>
<p>Warren looked at his feet, as if he talking about them still hurt his pride. “I just don’t need them anymore,” he’s murmured under his breath.</p>
<p>“Yeah, you don’t,” you said, nudging his arm. “But it would be nice to have them.”</p>
<p>~</p>
<p><em>Tenderness and rot  <br/>share a border.  <br/>And rot is an  <br/>aggressive neighbor  <br/>whose iridescence  <br/>keeps creeping over</em>.  </p>
<p>
  <em>by Kay Ryan, <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.poetryfoundation.org%2Fpoetrymagazine%2Fpoems%2F41368%2Ftenderness-and-rot&amp;t=ZDQ2MjVmMGM3NTgwNDdjNjFkNDk3NjQ3ZDQ0MzMzY2Y5ZmQ2ODU3NCxmOTYwNTI1ZGU5NDg4NjdkYjNiNGE3ZTUzZTlmZjI3M2QyYTZiY2Y4&amp;ts=1608271742">“Tenderness and Rot”</a></em>
</p>
<p>There was someone else in the X-Mansion. You could sense a new presence in the building. It was someone who was happy, optimistic, and hopeful. An upbeat presence that was familiar to you.</p>
<p>A dark skinned, white haired mutant was just making her way in the entrance of the X-Mansion.</p>
<p>“Storm?” you said with a smile.</p>
<p>The mutant whipped her head around, her travel bag still slung over her shoulder. “Y/n!” she smiled brightly. She embraced you warmly.</p>
<p>It had been years since you had seen Storm. The last time you saw her was in college. She was still the same glass-half-full person that you had know so long ago. You weren’t expecting to see her; she hadn’t called or anything, but you weren’t unhappy to see her.</p>
<p>“What are you doing here?” you asked in the most polite way you could.</p>
<p>“Well, I still live here,” she beamed.</p>
<p>“So you teach now,” you mused aloud. Honestly, it was like her to want to help as many people as she could. She was one of the Professor’s original students, so it made sense that she would many to stay.</p>
<p>She nudged your arm. “Of course. And I heard you were in town.”</p>
<p>“So you talked to the Professor,” you sighed.</p>
<p>Storm followed you into the mansion. “C’mon, that’s not a bad thing.”</p>
<p>You caught Warren in the corner of your eye. He was dodging out of your and Storm’s view. He was curious, but still a little shy. It seemed like he recognized Storm.</p>
<p>Storm raised an eyebrow. “That’s-“</p>
<p>“Yup,” you said quietly. “He doesn’t like people.”</p>
<p>“You know I was there, in Egypt,” said Storm, entering the X-Mansion kitchen. “He was so banged up that we didn’t think he would make it.”</p>
<p>“Mhm,” you murmured absentmindedly, taking two beers out of the fridge.</p>
<p>Storm opened the beers on the counter, a trick that Scott taught her. “All I’m saying is that he’s been through a lot. And I know you know that. I’m not saying- it’s just, you went though something kind of similar.”</p>
<p>Your body tensed as you took a seat at the kitchen counter. “It was a long time ago.”</p>
<p>“I know, but I just thought it might be hard for you to be working with him,” she said sympathetically. “You were in a coma for what- 3 months?”</p>
<p>You sighed deeply. It was true, years ago you were in an accident. The X-Men had invited you on a mission, it was only your second or third time doing a mission with them. It was supposed to be an easy in-and-out thing, but something happened. You couldn’t really remember.</p>
<p>All you remembered was waking up in the X-Mansion months later, a tube in your throat and a monitor beeping behind you. Your body had completely wasted away, almost all of your muscle mass was gone. You had to relearn how to do the most basic things, like eat, sit up, and walk. It was excruciating. Tiring. You never went on a mission after that.</p>
<p>Actually, you hadn’t been to the X-Mansion since then. If the Professor needed your help, he’d fly you out to meet the mutant somewhere else, or the mutant would fly out to your place.</p>
<p>“It was a long time ago, Storm,” you repeated. “It’s fine.”</p>
<p>Storm rolled her eyes. “You’re super closed off for a therapist.”</p>
<p>“I listen to other people’s problems for a living, people don’t listen to mine,” you reminded her. “Besides, I came here to do a job. I can deal.”</p>
<p>“You know you can talk to me, right?” she said. She was still the good guy. Forever the optimist. It kind of bugged you that she was better at your job than you were.</p>
<p>“Thanks,” you grinned, holding up your beer. You had missed her. You just didn’t realize it.</p>
<p>She clinked her glass against yours. “Don’t worry, I’m only staying for the night.”</p>
<p>“Thank god,” you laughed.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>
  <em>It’s all right<br/>Unless you’re either lonely or under attack.<br/>That strange effortful<br/>Repositioning of yourself.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>by Michael Hofmann, <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.poetryfoundation.org%2Fpoetrymagazine%2Fpoems%2F51197%2Fnight-56d22ec7e4534&amp;t=YjM0YjY3NGVlNjRlY2M1YjRlNDgwZDM1OTgyMGM0N2FmYzlhNGJkZixiZWU1YzQ3ZDkyYjA5MzQyYjAzNmUzMjBjYzE1MTE4YTI5MzAxNDkz&amp;ts=1608271742">“Night”</a></em>
</p>
<p>Your bedroom door creaked open late at night. After you and Storm had spent hours reminiscing over old memories and beers. When you finally wandered back to your bedroom, it was well past midnight.</p>
<p>“Hey Warren,” you sighed tiredly, rubbing your eyes. You slowly forced yourself to sit up in bed.</p>
<p>“So you’re been through it,” he said, still looming in the doorway.</p>
<p>You blinked, trying to stay awake. “Through what?”</p>
<p>“<em>It</em>.”</p>
<p>You slowly shook your head as you tried to find the words. He was thinking that you had been through the same things. But you hadn’t. Everyone’s experiences were unique, and even if the same thing happened to two people, you’d get two completely different experiences.</p>
<p>“Warren,” you started. “There’s no universal ‘it’.”</p>
<p>Warren’s expression remained unchanged. “What does that mean?”</p>
<p>It didn’t seem like he was mad or upset at you. You didn’t hide anything from him, and he knew that. He was just now getting a more complete picture of who you were. And he was curious.</p>
<p>“I can’t pretend like I know what you’ve been through,” you tried to clarify. “And you can’t pretend to know what I’ve been through.”</p>
<p>Warren paused. He was processing. “Can you tell me?” he asked softly. His eyes were gentle, even somewhat inviting.</p>
<p>You pulled the sheets back on your bed, inviting the mutant to sit down next to you. “Only if you call your parents.”</p>
<p>“Funny,” replied Warren dryly. Nevertheless, he made his way into the bedroom and took a seat next to you.</p>
<p>“It’s not a long story,” you explained to him. “I went on a mission and I got hurt. And that was the last mission I went on.”</p>
<p>“C’mon,” pried Warren. “I know that’s not it.”</p>
<p>You scoffed. Warren was picking up on everything that you had been doing to him. Usually, you would be happy that he was seeing what you were doing. But right now it was more annoying than anything.</p>
<p>“I was… in a coma,” you said as monotone as possible. “It was scary.”</p>
<p>Warren looked at you as if he was expecting more.</p>
<p>“God, what do you want me to say? Why do you even care?” you asked defensively. You were a little drunk, and super on edge. For the first time you fully understood why your clients often met you with a standoffish manner.</p>
<p>“I- I don’t know, isn’t it fair?” he said. “I tell you everything, so wouldn’t it be fair?”</p>
<p>You couldn’t believe Warren was pulling an uno reverse card on you. He was making you expose your own trauma, and you had to so he would trust you.</p>
<p>“I haven’t been back here since then,” you said slowly. “At the X-Mansion, I mean.”</p>
<p>Warren’s eyes widened. “Why did you come back?”</p>
<p>“Because Xavier asked me to.”</p>
<p>He shook his head. “But why did you come back?”</p>
<p>You resisted the urge to tell him off. “Because… I figured whoever needed me here was worse off than me.”</p>
<p>You expected him to look at you like you were broken, like you were made of glass. But when you met his glance, he was looking at you with empathy and warmth. Like he understood. In a way he did.</p>
<p>What you had been through didn’t make you broken. It didn’t make you less of a person. It made you stronger and understanding. Maybe it made you flawed, but everyone is flawed. And he seemed to understand that.</p>
<p>You rubbed your temples. “War, I’m drunk. And I don’t want to talk about all my deep dark feelings. I’m obviously <em>fine</em>. If you wanna read my medical files, my mission reports, that’s fine, I’m not going to stop you. But I’m not going to sit here and spew emotional vomit. That’s your job.”</p>
<p>Warren paused, unsure of what to do. He weighted his options, then he nudged your arm. “Are you-?”</p>
<p>“Don’t ask me if I’m okay,” you interrupted quickly. You didn’t mean to be blunt, even if you were, you just weren’t in the mood.</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>You flopped back down on your bed with a groan. You pulled the covers up, covering your face and burying your head in your pillow. “Good night, War.”</p>
<p>Warren’s wings moved, coupled with soft metal sounds. “Good night.” The mattress shifted as he got to his feet. His footsteps were slow and quiet. He paused at the doorway, as if he was looking back at you, before he closed the door behind him.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p><em>I carry the same baffled heart I have always carried</em><br/>a bit more battered than before, a bit less joy<br/>for I see the difficult charge of living in this declining sphere  </p>
<p>
  <em>by D.A. Powell, <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.poetryfoundation.org%2Fpoems%2F54615%2Fchronic&amp;t=OGU4ZDVjNzZmMWVhNWMwOTk4Y2RlY2IyOGUzNjFmZDRjMThjMDY0OCxjMDUwYzE2OGVkMDMzMzk3NDk3MDVjYmY5MWE0YjA1ZDRmOTA4ZGQz&amp;ts=1608271742">“Chronic”</a></em>
</p>
<p>“By honest, Storm, did Charles tell you to check on me?” you asked her directly.  </p>
<p>She was on her way out, first thing in the morning.  She had her bag in hand again and a jacket slung around her shoulders.  </p>
<p>“No,” she answered with a grin.  “He just strongly suggested it.” </p>
<p>You paused for a second, trying to determine if you should be mad or grateful.  On one hand, you found it somewhat insulting that the Professor thought you needed emotional support.  On the other hand, you were grateful that he had thought of you.  That he cared about your emotional wellbeing.  </p>
<p>“Well,” you finally said.  “Tell Charles thanks.  And tell him I’m doing okay.”  You had to stop your voice from hitching before saying ‘okay’.</p>
<p>She looked at you unbelieving.  “Mhm.”</p>
<p>“Alright, tell him whatever you want,” you laughed.  You gave her a quick hug.  “Thanks for coming,” you said sincerely.  </p>
<p>“I missed you,” she responded.  </p>
<p>“I missed you too.” </p>
<p>She took a step at the door, giving you a look that asked you if you were sure that you were okay.  You gave her a reassuring grin.  </p>
<p>“Hey, tell me something,” she said, lowering her voice.  “Are you with him?” </p>
<p>You furrowed your eyebrows.  “What?”</p>
<p>“Y/n, are you <em>with </em>him?” she pressed.  </p>
<p>She was asking if you were with Warren.  Why would she think that? Did she think there was something between you and Warren? You were just treating him.  You always formed emotional bonds with your patients.  At least that’s what you told yourself.  </p>
<p>“N-no, I came here because-” </p>
<p>“Okay, okay!” She held up her hands and took a step backwards.  “I’m gonna visit!” she called from down the driveway.  She threw her bag into the waiting taxi.  </p>
<p>You waved one last time as you watched the taxi drive off.  When you turned back around into the X-Mansion, Warren was standing across the room.  He was leaning against a doorway, his wings held carefully by his sides, and he had a slight grin on his face.   </p>
<p>You almost laughed at the sight of him with a smile on his face.  He was happy, and you weren’t sure why.  “What, did you want her to leave that bad?” you chuckled.  “I talked to her, she has nothing against you.” </p>
<p>“No, it’s not that,” he laughed.  “I… I did something…”</p>
<p>You looked at him in anticipation.  “What did you do?”</p>
<p>“I called my parents,” he said in an uncharacteristically upbeat manner.  </p>
<p>“Yeah?” you responded.  He was excited, and you were excited for him.  His excitement probably meant that it went well.  </p>
<p>“They wanna see me!” he exclaimed, a big smile on his lips.  “They wanna fly me to New York, and they want to meet me!”</p>
<p>“Oh my god, that’s great!” You ran over to him, and he pulled you into a tight embrace.  </p>
<p>It seemed easy, almost natural the way he held you.  His arms around your waist, his wings protectively curled around your shoulders.  Even though his wings were sharp and metal, you felt safe when they were around you.  </p>
<p>“I can’t believe it,” Warren murmured.  “I didn’t even think they’d wanna talk to me.  Or I- I thought I’d be angry at them or something.  I guess you were right.  I guess people change.” </p>
<p>You suddenly realized that he was going to leave.  You knew that from the beginning; he was going to leave, and you were going to go back home.  But still, something happened that you didn’t expect.  You realized that you were going to miss him.  </p>
<p>You pulled away from him the slightest bit, and he loosened his grip on you.  “That’s great, War,” you said sincerely.  </p>
<p>~</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. broken in compatible ways</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Clasp me close in your warm young arms,<br/>While the pale stars shine above,<br/>And we’ll live our whole young lives away<br/>In the joys of a living love.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>by Ella Wheeler Wilcox, <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.poetryfoundation.org%2Fpoems%2F50334%2Fi-love-you-56d22d5628559&amp;t=YWZjYzBmYzY1MmNiZWEyOGIxM2ZjYzQ5YTE2OTJkNzRmZjMyYmNiZCxiYzZhZmM2NWZjNDk5MWUzYWQxOWYxZWE1ODVmNWZhMmU1NDVmZjQ2&amp;ts=1608010522">“I Love You”</a></em>
</p><p>You scoffed at the corny poem as you turned to page to the book.</p><p>“What, you don’t like that one?” asked Warren, looking over your shoulder.</p><p>You were sitting side by side, both reading from the same book.</p><p>You thought for a second, trying to find the right words. “Well I don’t know why love is such a glorified emotion,” you started. “It’s so- so unreasonable. Illogical.”</p><p>Warren furrowed his eyebrows. “You don’t believe in love?”</p><p>“No, it’s not that,” you started at him. “I just mean that love shouldn’t mean everything. A person can feel love for a dog they pass on the street. They can feel love for a person they’ve never met. They can feel love for a fictional character. It’s just- love isn’t a binding contract.”</p><p>“Okay Socrates.”</p><p>“Shut up,” you laughed, pushing him away. </p><p>“Who hurt you?” he joked again, a slight grin on his face.</p><p>You rolled your eyes the slightest bit. “Tell me about your parents.”</p><p>Warren scoffed at the subject change. “They live in Manhattan.”</p><p>You were half occupied reading the next page in your book. “Yeah? Are they rich?” you asked.</p><p>Warren made a quiet <em>tsk</em> sound. “What do you have against small talk? Yeah, my dad is like a business tycoon or whatever you call it.”</p><p>“Mhm,” you mused absentmindedly. You weren’t exactly suprised, you had seen Warren eat a hamburger with a fork and knife. “Wanna talk about the damages of a privileged upbringing?”</p><p>“Shut up,” he laughed.</p><p>You looked up at him with a playful grin. He wasn’t reading over your shoulder anymore. Instead he was looking out the foggy glass windows that only let in a muted, orange light from the sunset. His eyes were brighter than when you had first met him, like a weight had been taken off his shoulders.</p><p>You knew a part of him was still hurt, and would probably always be hurt. You could see it in the corners of his eyes. People are kind of like pottery; you can put the pieces back together after your broken, but you’ll never really be the same as before.</p><p>He was thinking about something. Part of you wanted to ask what he was thinking, part of you wanted to leave him with his thoughts.</p><p>He suddenly looked over at you, noticing that you were studying his face. You quickly looked away and buried your nose in your book.</p><p>“My parents kinda fucked me up,” he murmured softly.</p><p>You shifted the slightest bit. “Everyone’s does.”</p><p>“What if they do it again?” he asked a little nervously.</p><p>“They don’t mean to, War,” you sighed, closing your book. “Plus, you’re not really that scared of that.”</p><p>“Yeah? How do you know?” His glance moved from the windows to you.</p><p>“Because if you were really scared of them hurting you again, you wouldn’t be going,” you claimed.</p><p>He clasped his hands together and studied the floor. “I guess you’re right. But you know what they say, right? Curiosity killed the cat?”</p><p>“You actually think that?” you interjected. “Don’t you think it would be better to know than you not know?” You paused, waiting for his response, but there was none. “Sure, curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back,” you finished the saying.</p><p>“I don’t know,” he sighed. “I’m just nervous.”</p><p>You nodded understandingly. “I know, but you’ll be okay.”</p><p>He looked over at you curiously, as if he didn’t know what you meant. </p><p>“If you go and they’re nice, then that’s great,” you tried to explain. “But if they’re not, then at least you know.”</p><p>~</p><p>
  <em>I feel even more for you;<br/>Or I feel nothing.<br/>I can’t tell; it’s kind<br/>Of scary.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>by Ariana Raines, <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.poetryfoundation.org%2Fpoems%2F55571%2Ftrying-to-see-the-proportional-relation&amp;t=MGVjNTc1NjQ1N2JmNDI5N2FmOWI0MWUzODllN2Q3ZGY1NGQ4NTYxNSxlNWNlMTMyZWVlMThlN2I5ZjlkNGVlYmQ1YTQ2NGNkZTRhOWJlMjIw&amp;ts=1608535881">[Trying to see the proportional relation]</a></em>
</p><p>You plopped a grocery bag down on the kitchen counter and started to refill the fridge. It wasn’t a lot, just enough for two people. You restocked the kitchen probably once a week.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Warren asked. He was drinking directly from the milk container.</p><p>“Is that a trick question?” you responded, holding up a new jug of milk. “Groceries.”</p><p>Warren looked a little confused. “Have you been buying groceries this entire time?”</p><p>“Yeah, who else would be buying them,” you told him. “We’re literally the only two people here.”</p><p>“Oh. Right.” He put the lid back on the milk container. He studied your movements for a second. He was curious. He wanted to know more about you, but he couldn’t really find the words to do so.</p><p>“Tell me about your life,” asked Warren.</p><p>You were taken off guard. You narrowed your eyes and turned to face the mutant. “Why?”</p><p>Warren had a guilty grin on his face, as if he knew he had asked about something he shouldn’t have. “I don’t know, I’m curious. You don’t talk about your life.”</p><p>Well, he was right. You didn’t talk about yourself that much. In your defense, people didn’t ask that much. You spent your days listening to other people talk about their lives. Honestly, you had gotten used to not sharing your life with anyone else. Maybe you had forgotten how.</p><p>“What do you wanna know?” you asked slowly.</p><p>Warren shrugged. “Anything. Whatever you wanna tell me.”</p><p>“Um, I live on the beach I guess. It’s not a sunny beach, it’s a little more foggy and rainy, but I like it better that way,” you started.</p><p>For some reason, you found that you couldn’t look at him when you were rambling about your life. You felt Warren’s eyes on you, expecting more.</p><p>“I work in a little private practice office with two other people. I… I guess I like them because they mostly leave me alone,” you continued a little uncomfortably.</p><p>“Private practice?” Warren asked.</p><p>“Yeah, you know like therapy. Like what Charles has me do, except I get paid for it,” you explained. You paused for a second, unsure of what to say. “Is that want you wanted?”</p><p>“Kind of,” he answered.</p><p>You could tell he wanted more, but you weren’t exactly sure what he wanted.</p><p>“When I wake up in the morning, I make myself a coffee and sit on my back porch. The sun reflects off the ocean, and it’s pretty I guess. The orange and pink and whatever,” you said rather non-eloquently.</p><p>Warren looked at you with gentle eyes.  “Yeah?”</p><p>“Yeah,” you told him.  “And I fall asleep to the sound of waves.  That’s why I sleep with a box fan.  I can’t sleep without something like that.” You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyeline.  </p><p>It seemed foolish, being too embarrassed to look him in the eye after everything you had helped him through.  Maybe it was because you weren’t used to sharing.  </p><p>You laughed a little in spite of yourself.  “Is- is that what you wanted?” </p><p>“Yeah, actually, it was,” responded Warren brightly.  </p><p>You finally looked up at him.  He was looking at you as if he saw something in you.  He was looking at you carefully, almost lovingly.  </p><p>“Right,” you whispered.  You somehow found butterflies in your stomach and your cheeks flushed.  “I’ll… I’ll see you around.” You closed the kitchen cabinet with a thud and made for the door, only briefly looking back before leaving. </p><p>~</p><p>
  <em>I know his loneliness,<br/>like mine, human and sad,<br/>but different, too, his private pain<br/>and pleasure I can never enter</em>
</p><p>
  <em>by Susan Brown, <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.poetryfoundation.org%2Fpoems%2F49270%2Fchance-meeting&amp;t=NWI0NGY2ZDNmNTgyM2I4MDYzZmQ5MjliOGQ4ZGNlNjgzNzNkNDFjNCxkNjc3ZDlhNTlhMzM5ZDQxMzgzN2ExZjc4M2M5NWQ4YTIwNDVmYzE0&amp;ts=1608010522">“Chance Meeting”</a></em>
</p><p>Something was pulling you from your sleep.  Someone, well- Warren, wasn’t asleep despite it being well past midnight.  You checked your clock and turned over in bed, hoping it would pass.  Warren has had nightmares since he first came to the X-Mansion, but they were becoming shorter and less frequent.  </p><p>He was scared.  Scared in a way that made you shiver and look over your shoulder.  You debated getting up and checking on him.  His fear suddenly rose into a mad panic, causing you to jump out of bed and out your bedroom door.  </p><p>“Warren?!” you called out, bursting his bedroom door open.  You were expecting to see him bleeding on the floor, but instead he was fussing in his sleep, quietly thrashing back and forth.  </p><p>Your arms fell to your side and you let out a sigh.  You were half-relieved, and half worried for him.  He was just having a really bad nightmare.  </p><p>You wondered what he dreamed about sometimes.  Maybe Apocalypse, maybe losing his wings.  He never talked about it.  When you snuck into his room to comfort him, he either didn’t remember or just didn’t want to mention it. </p><p>“Warren,” you soothed, moving to his side.  You gently shook his arm, and he reflexively pushed you away.  You sat down on his bed and placed a hand on his shoulder.  “It’s okay, War, c’mon.” </p><p>His eyes suddenly shot open and his breathing quickened.  He looked back and forth frantically as if he was searching for an assailant.  His wings flapped a few times before he settled.  </p><p>“Hey, it’s okay,” you soothed again. “It’s okay.” </p><p>His hand grasped onto your arm.  “Y/n?” he breathed, his eyes still wild.  </p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>He was still scared, but his breathing was returning to normal.  “Wha… what-” </p><p>“Shh, calm down.” You pulled him towards you, and he collapsed into your chest.  You wrapped your arms around his shivering figure, again wondering what was haunting him after all this time. </p><p>You hoped this was just a flare up.  Something that occurred once, maybe twice. You so desperately wanted to help him, wanted to make him whole, but you didn’t know if you could. </p><p>Part of you wondered if your closeness to him was clouding your vision. </p><p>~</p><p>
  <em>It hurts to thwart the reflexes<br/>of grab, of clutch; to love and let<br/>go again and again.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>by Marge Piercy, <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.poetryfoundation.org%2Fpoems%2F57672%2Fto-have-without-holding&amp;t=Yjk1ZDczZWU5NmJkOGY4MTZiODk1MTYxODM4Y2M3NjUwYmFmZDBiMyxmMGU2MGRkZDc1MmU4YjU5YTJlMmY1NDU2NjQ0OTY3NzA0NDEwODY4&amp;ts=1608535881">“To have without holding”</a></em>
</p><p>“You know it’s raining, right?” called out Warren, jogging up to the pavilion.</p><p>You looked up from your book and gave him a soft smile. “I know.”</p><p>The rain was pounding down on the roof of the pavilion. It started out as just a drizzle, but it developed into a full on rain, trapping you in the middle of the garden.</p><p>Warren was happy. He gave you a gleeful, carefree grin as of nothing happened last night. You were cautious, but you looked at him admiringly as he shook the water off of his wings and ran his fingers through his wet hair.</p><p>“What’s up?” you asked.</p><p>“Nothing,” he replied happily, sitting down next to you. “Just wanted to see you.”</p><p>You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling as he looked over into your book.</p><p>“So last night,” he started slowly.  </p><p>Your eyes stopped on a blank space in the book.  You tensed a little, waiting for Warren to finish his sentence.  </p><p>“I… I just wanted to say thank you,” he continued sheepishly.  “I didn’t mean to wake you up or anything.  Just- thanks.  For everything.”  The words were jumbled and messy, but meaningful just the same. You meant exactly what he said.</p><p>You let out a soft sigh of relief.  “Yeah, of course, War.”  You turned to face him, but he was studying his hands.  </p><p>He laughed nervously.  “Did you hear that? Me talking about how I feel?” </p><p>“Yeah,” you smiled.  “Yeah, I did.  That’s- that’s great.” </p><p>Warren scoffed. “‘Great’ might be an exaggeration, but you know.”</p><p>You were both broken in your own unique ways, something that was close to impossible to change.  But it felt good, knowing you eased his pain, even if it was temporary.  There were bad days for both of you, and you knew there might always be bad days, but in the moment it felt okay.  </p><p>You were feeling desire.  It was burning in your chest.  Your brain was screaming at you to keep boundaries, telling you that trying to be with him would only hurt both of you, but your heart kept pulling you towards him.  You were grateful for the pounding rain that was masking the sound of your heart beating out of your chest. </p><p>The feelings were overwhelming. You knew he wasn’t emotionally available, but at that point in time you didn’t care. It felt right, it felt good. You being able to help him made you feel some sort of way.</p><p>“Warren…” </p><p>He turned to face you, and your lips were just inches away.  His breath hitched as he looked you up and down. </p><p>You closed your eyes, trying to stop yourself.  “This… do you…?”</p><p>“Maybe,” he whispered.  He was a little nervous, and he was drowning in anticipation.</p><p>He inched closer, and suddenly you felt like the one who was emotionally inept.  You wanted to bite your lip and pull yourself away, but before you could, Warren’s lips were on yours. He gently pulled you closer to him and you closed your eyes to savor the moment.</p><p>You felt warm and safe, despite the pounding rain outside the pavilion. Warren’s gentle movements contrasted his threatening appearance. You had learned to see him as more than just a pair of metal wings.</p><p>For the first time, he held you in his arms, comforting <em>you</em>. And you would’ve been happy sitting there forever.</p><p>~</p><p>
  <em>I tell you I’m me,<br/>shaped with great care.<br/>Don’t tear me down<br/>with your mystical eyes.<br/>I’ll find my own way.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>by Ernest Lowe, <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Findigodev.com%2FPoems70s.html&amp;t=MmY2YWQyYWFhZTVmM2RmYjYzOWI0OWNmNTUyYWZmYjNjYzAwMGNlMCw0MTYwMzcxYjQxM2NiY2M5NjUyNzM0ZGEzODk5Yzg1ZDgxNzcwNGM2&amp;ts=1608010522">“Anna Moon’s Song to the Poet”</a></em>
</p><p>“Don’t leave,” you whispered, still resting your head against Warren’s chest. You couldn’t tell if you had been in his arms for minutes or hours, and you didn’t really care either. “Or- or come with me.”</p><p>Warren paused, his warm emotions suddenly turning dark and cloudy. He looked down at you before pulling away. He was confused and conflicted. His eyes wandered over the landscape as he tried to find the right words. A sudden wave of frustration washed over him and he pulled away from you.</p><p>You shot up from your seat. “Warren…?” You may have just fucked everything up with one little sentence.</p><p>He stood up in front of you and tried and failed to find words again. Frustrated, ran his hands through his hair with a huff before waking out of the pavilion and into the rain.</p><p>“Warren!” you called out, jogging to catch up with him. The rain was cold and loud, and it made it hard to see more than 10 feet in front of you.</p><p>Warren suddenly turned around with a swell of sadness in his chest.</p><p>“Why don’t you understand, y/n?” he cried out passionately, his metal wings stretching with every word. “This… this is all I have to offer! This is all I am!”</p><p>You looked up at him with sad eyes, both the rain and tears blurring your vision. All you wanted was to care for him, to comfort him, to love him- but he couldn’t let you.</p><p>You knew firsthand what he was feeling. The fear of caring too much for someone, being afraid of being everything to someone. You understood, so you couldn’t be mad. So the only thing you could be was hurt.</p><p>“I can’t give you a life, y/n,” he continued, holding back his own tears. “I know that’s what you want, and I can’t give it to you!”</p><p>He felt guilty for his emotional shortcomings. You wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, that he had nothing to feel guilty for, but you somehow found that you couldn’t.</p><p>“I- I’m going to New York,” he said coldly. He wanted to say sorry, but he didn’t. Instead, he glanced down at his shoes before walking away.</p><p>He was scared.  He didn’t see himself as a complete person yet.  He felt like he wasn’t enough for you, like you would want more from him than he could provide.  He still saw himself as one dimensional: cold, distant, and closed off. </p><p>You couldn’t blame him for being scared.  Maybe you had pushed him too far, or maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.  Either way, his room was empty the next morning, and you found yourself flying out of New York the day after that. </p><p>~</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. all we can do is our best</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“The stars<br/>were always what we knew<br/>they were: the exit wounds<br/>of every<br/>misfired word.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>by Ocean Vuong, <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fr1bfamilyportraits.files.wordpress.com%2F2018%2F04%2Focean-vuong-e28093-night-sky-with-exit-wounds-excerpts.pdf&amp;t=MTQ1OTExMzVmNjI4Y2IyMTM0ZTlmOGExODc3MWJlYzI2Y2E0NTRmMiw3NzYxOGRjN2UxNWEwN2VmNWJjZmYwODhiNGY3ZWVjYmZhN2E3N2Q1&amp;ts=1605893834">“Night Sky with Exit Wounds”</a></em>
</p>
<p>The second Warren stepped into his New York apartment he figured out that leaving didn’t make him feel any better. He was scared of loving you, that didn’t change, but not even trying felt worse.</p>
<p>He wanted to go back, but he thought the damage was already done, he had already told you he was going to go.</p>
<p>His parents greeted him in an unexpectedly warm manner. He hadn’t felt so welcome since he was a little kid, since before they knew he was a mutant. His mom cried when he saw him. He didn’t know if that was because she had missed him or because he was such a different person now. His dad greeted him with a handshake. He was still conflicted.</p>
<p>Warren didn’t notice these things about people until after he met y/n. He never would’ve noticed how the people around him were feeling. Y/n always knew how Warren felt, so he felt like he should know how she’s feeling too. After a few weeks, he could tell when she was tired or excited or anxious about something just by studying her face.</p>
<p>He didn’t expect to miss y/n so much. He sat on his oversized, plush bed, and all he could think about was her warmth and comfort, even though he hadn’t spent that long with her. He had spent four weeks together, and for one of them he didn’t even talk to her.</p>
<p>There was a quiet knock on Warren’s bedroom door. A small part of him hoped it was y/n. Instead, a maid suck her head in the doorway.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I’m not used to this room being occupied.”</p>
<p>Warren forgot that his parents hired people to clean their penthouse. In fact, he had almost forgotten all the aspects of the luxurious life he used to live.  </p>
<p>The family dinner he had with his parents was cooked by a private chef.  Warren had to fold his wings in an uncomfortable way to fit in a dining room chair.  The plates were filled with steak and lobster and other things he hadn’t had since before he left home.  The food was great, but the conversation was lackluster.  His mom seemed to have good intentions.  She asked where he had been, seemingly unaware of everything he had been through in the past ten plus years.  His dad excused himself halfway through for a business call.  </p>
<p>Curiously, Warren found his bed too soft to sleep in comfortably.  He felt like he was sinking into it, like he would fall right through it into the ground.  That coupled with the traffic noise prevented him from getting any shut eye.  He got up and wandered to the penthouse balcony.  New York City was so busy, unlike the quiet, upstate X-mansion.  Warren looked down on the brightly illuminating streets, still bustling despite it being well past mid-night.  </p>
<p>Warren contemplated jumping off the balcony and going for a fly around the city, but he didn’t want to cause some sort of panic.  He half wondered if y/n was having the same trouble sleeping, and if so, if she was looking at the same stars.  </p>
<p>But then again, she was halfway across the country.  </p>
<p>~</p>
<p>
  <em>“I thought falling in love was a burden a kind of<br/>crowding on my landscape love creates space<br/>dummy doesn’t<br/>take it up”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>by Tommy Pico, <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Ftinhouse.com%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2017%2F10%2FJunk-Preview.pdf&amp;t=YWM5MGRjZDI2YjJjNDUyYTc5ZTljYzQ5YTU4ODk1Yzk5YzgwNjBhYSw1Zjc1NWRmOGFkM2JiY2FkOTNkNGY2MTM2MTdkOWFkOGZjN2YzNjZj&amp;ts=1605893834">“Junk”</a></em>
</p>
<p>You had gone back to your little place on the coast. Farther north than California, you thought California had too many tourists and was way too sunny. You had a small house that was terribly overpriced, but it made you happy. You loved the feeling of the ocean mist on your face in the morning, you loved waking up to the sound of waves.</p>
<p>Most of all, you loved the people, or lack thereof. When there were people around, they were happy, relaxed, or just completely carefree. But most of the time you were alone, and you didn’t feel tethered to anyone else.</p>
<p>You liked being alone. Or at least you used to.</p>
<p>You had been going through your days in a sort of a trance.  The Professor come back right before you left the X-Mansion.  He didn’t ask how everything went, obviously he just knew.  When you came back home, you started seeing patients day in and day out to avoid staying at home. </p>
<p>You had told Warren about your place on the ocean. You had pictured yourself sitting on the beach next to him, watching the fog roll in or listening to the waves. Maybe foolishly so.</p>
<p>You mentally cursed yourself. You got emotionally involved with literally everyone you met, so it made catching feeling a little bit complicated. Usually you were cautious, but somehow he had caught you with your guard down.</p>
<p>“Right y/n?”</p>
<p>You snapped out of your trance and quickly looked up to face your patient. You were a therapist by day, and you were still seeing patients. Ms. Paterson, the woman you were counseling now, was having trouble with her in laws.</p>
<p>“Right- so why does that make you so worried?” you said quickly.</p>
<p>The patient furrowed her eyebrows. “I didn’t tell you that made me worried.”</p>
<p>“Yeah- you’re right, sorry,” you corrected yourself. Some people weren’t exactly accepting of mutants. And sometimes people felt uncomfortable knowing you felt their feelings. “So how does that make you feel?”</p>
<p>God, it’s so much easier to counsel mutants. You barely listened as the women launched into a monologue. You were spacing out, looking at the ocean through a nearby window. Above the window, there was a little shelf of your small collection of modern poetry books.</p>
<p>Someone had given you a poetry book as a gift once. You thought it looked nice on your office shelf, so you bought a few more. You had a couple of fidget toys for patients to fiddle with when they were nervous, as well as paintings to make the place look more homey.</p>
<p>You had read some sort of research article saying that poetry helped you understand other people. You didn’t really see how, it was generally just a bunch of jumbled words.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>
  <em>There is nothing more pathetic than caution<br/>when headlong might save a life</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>by Mary Oliver, <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.amazon.com%2Fgp%2Fproduct%2F0143128760%2Fref%3Das_li_tf_il%3Fie%3DUTF8%26tag%3Dboorio-20%26linkCode%3Das2%26camp%3D217145%26creative%3D399349%26creativeASIN%3D0143128760&amp;t=ZjdjNmUxZDk1YWEyMzhlZTMxMTAxMDgwYjA2NWFhOTQ0ZjAxODZmNSxkYjAyMWFiZjM1Y2RmZWVhYjIxZmFkOGEyM2QyYTRmMzBhNmMzMzBl&amp;ts=1605893834">“Felicity”</a></em>
</p>
<p>“So Warren,” his mom started  She was putting on a pair of dangling diamond earrings, getting ready to leave the penthouse. “We talked to, um, honey what was his name?” she asked turning to her husband.</p>
<p>“Charles, I think,” said Warren Jr. absentmindedly. He was holding his wife’s jacket in his arms.  They were going to some sort of charity event.  </p>
<p>His mom’s high heels clicked against the marble floors with every step she took.  She was walking all around the living room looking for her purse.  “Yes, it was Charles,” she continued. “Anyways we were so glad he was able to help you.”</p>
<p>Warren wanted to mention y/n, but he didn’t see what good it would do.  “Yeah, he was nice,” he said instead.  </p>
<p>Warren’s dad cleared his throat.  “Honey, didn’t you have something to give Warren?” </p>
<p>Warren couldn’t really figure out his dad.  He seemed indifferent more than anything else.  When Warren was a kid, his parents were outspokenly anti-mutant, as the top 1% tended to be.  Since Warren had come back, they hadn’t said anything about him being a mutant.  Warren had caught a few sideways glances in the hallways, but no one had said anything directly to him.  </p>
<p>“Oh, yes!” said Warren’s mom.  She turned on her heels and went to her bedroom, re-emerging with a flat cardboard box.  </p>
<p>His mom seemed to find the wings intimidating.  His dad seemed unable to look him in the eye.  Warren told himself that it would take them some time to warm up to him, but the longer he spent there the less he believed they ever would.  </p>
<p>“Thanks,” Warren murmured, taking the box in his hands.  He took the top off the box, revealing a folded tan coat. </p>
<p>Warren knew immediately why his parents had given him the jacket.  He used to wear a similar one when he was younger.  It was to cover his wings, so no one knew he was a mutant.  The gift made him mad in a way he couldn’t explain. </p>
<p>“Do you like it?” his mom asked with a smile on her face.  “So you can go to things with us, and go out in public.” </p>
<p>“Y-yeah,” Warren lied.  “Thanks.” </p>
<p>“Great,” said Warren’s mom.  She took her coat from her husband.  “We’ll see you tonight.” </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Warren murmured.  “See you later.” </p>
<p>~</p>
<p>
  <em>What happened is, we grew lonely<br/>living among the things,<br/>so we gave the clock a face,<br/>the chair a back,<br/>the table four stout legs<br/>which will never suffer fatigue.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>by Lisa Mueller, <a href="https://href.li/?https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/53133/things-56d2322956d0a">“Things”</a></em>
</p>
<p>You tried to tell yourself that it was a good thing that Warren decided to go to New York. It was good for him to make up with his parents. Everyone should have family. You genuinely tried to be happy for him.</p>
<p>Besides, you were already happy. You had already made a life for yourself, and you learned to be happy on your own. You had a career, you had a home, and sometimes you had the X-Man. That had always been enough for you before.</p>
<p>Maybe you had just felt all his feelings a little too deeply. Sometimes you wished you had a less personal power. Something like flight or super strength, something that made your job a little more straightforward. The X-Men swoop in and save the day; a straightforward job. What you did it was a little bit more complicated.</p>
<p>You didn’t leave with the problem truly fixed. You left people patched up with tape and glue. Sometimes they left knowing enough to fix themselves, sometimes people fell back apart.</p>
<p>You left things on a question mark. And that’s definitely what happened with Warren.</p>
<p>A part of you knew you’d be okay without him. You were good at being alone. You didn’t have to be tethered to another person when you were alone. But still… there was a faint ache in your chest that you couldn’t ignore.</p>
<p>There was a sudden, jarring knock on your door. It caused you to spring up from your seat and practically sprint to the door. You felt a rush of adrenaline as you prepared yourself to face the person on the other side.</p>
<p>You swung the door open, and Ms. Paterson was standing on the other side. Your heart dropped in your chest.</p>
<p>“Y/n, I was thinking about what you said,” she started, ignoring your annoyed glance.</p>
<p>“Ms. Paterson,” you sighed tiredly. “How did you find my house?”</p>
<p>“Oh, my niece is a real estate agent and this is a public listing,” she responded. “Anyways I was thinking about what you said-“</p>
<p>“Ms. Paterson,“ you interrupted. “We’re scheduled for 11:00am tomorrow. I’ll see you then. At the office.”</p>
<p>“But-“</p>
<p>You closed the door before she could finish the sentence. That could’ve cost her as a client, but you didn’t particularly care. You sunk to the ground, your back to the wall, and you buried your face in your hands.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>
  <em>“I’m trying out this thing where questions about love &amp; forgiveness<br/>are a form of work I’d rather not do alone.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>by Chen Chen, <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.poetryfoundation.org%2Fpoetrymagazine%2Fpoems%2F58154%2Fpoplar-street&amp;t=YTNlN2JiYzNiZDUzMjNhODNlOTgwNGY0N2U1NDY1MDcyMzM5MzcxMiwzMmM1YmIwN2E0ODkxZDEyZmY2YjcxMzBjOTBmNjA1YWVlMzhmMGFi&amp;ts=1605893834">“When I Grow Up I Want To Be a List of Further Possibilities”</a></em>
</p>
<p>It was a quiet morning. The fog had come in from the sea, covering the coast in a gentle mist. The sun had barely peaked over the horizon when you had gotten up.</p>
<p>You briefly considered calling in and rescheduling that day’s appointments. You were feeling under the weather, and it wasn’t because of the humidity. You weren’t physically sick, you knew that, but still your whole body ached. Your chest was heavy and it felt hard to breath. You couldn’t focus.</p>
<p>You told yourself coffee would help. You knew missing work wouldn’t help anything. Taking time off wouldn’t let you take your words back, it wouldn’t make you any less attached, and it wouldn’t make Warren any more emotionally available.</p>
<p>That’s how you were coping. Telling yourself that you made a mistake falling for someone who didn’t have the capacity to feel the same way. And you couldn’t even be mad, because you felt everything felt and you knew it wasn’t his fault.</p>
<p>A knock on your door pulled you from your thoughts.</p>
<p>“Ms. Paterson,” you groaned, getting up from your kitchen table. You didn’t exactly get a lot of visitors, and she was proving to be an extremely pushy person. “Our appointment is-“ you checked your watch. “Five hours from now.”</p>
<p>You unlocked your front door, keeping the chain on the lock. “Ms. Paterson-“</p>
<p>The person peaking in the doorway wasn’t Ms. Paterson. It was Warren.</p>
<p>You froze for a split second. “Warren…” you breathed. You took a second to compose yourself as you took the chain off the door to open it wider. “Hey.”</p>
<p>“Hey y/n,” he said softly. He looked the same as when he left the X-Mansion. His eyes a gentle but piercing blue, his blonde hair wavy. The metal wings still looming behind him.</p>
<p>“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice hitching. You wanted to turn away so you could compose yourself more. So you could think of something to say to him.</p>
<p>Warren shifted, his wings moving his weight. “I shouldn’t have left,” he admitted shyly. “I didn’t think it through. I was scared.”</p>
<p>“You made your choice, Warren,” you said quietly. Your tone wasn’t condescending or bitter. You wanted him to do what was best for him, even if it hurt you a little.</p>
<p>“I saw my parents,” started Warren, running his hands through his soft, blonde hair. He was nervous, like gut-wrenchingly nervous. “They… they were nice. They took me in, and they were willing to talk.” His tone shifted, and he looks a little downcast. “But… I don’t know if I belong in that world.”</p>
<p>You crossed your arms over your chest. “What world?”</p>
<p>“If I stay with them, I… well-“ he stammered. “They were expecting a version of me that doesn’t exist anymore. Look, I’m glad I went because now I know. I know they’re there. But I don’t think I belong with them.”</p>
<p>You didn’t say anything. Warren was feeling a lot of things. He was confused, then a little sad, and after that he was even a little grateful.</p>
<p>“Y/n,” he murmured, reaching out for your hand. “I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>You declined to take his hand, but you looked at him sympathetically. “Why are you apologizing?”</p>
<p>Warren pulled on his fingers. He was getting more and more emotional. “I… don’t know. I didn’t know what else to say.”</p>
<p>You huffed and broke eye contact, surveying the horizon. “Warren, I don’t know if you belong here, either. This- this is my life. I don’t even know if you want this life.”</p>
<p>He told you he couldn’t give you life. You were having a hard time understanding why he had changed his mind.</p>
<p>Warren sighed. “I don’t know how you’re feeling so you’re gonna have to tell me.”</p>
<p>The truth is, you weren’t really sure what you were feeling. There was excitement, but you couldn’t tell if it was yours or Warren’s. You weren’t sure if you were happy to see him, you had already tried to accept that you had seen the last of him. Nothing was truly clear.</p>
<p>“Warren, maybe you should’ve called…” You weren’t really sure what to tell him. You didn’t want to tell him me could leave, but you weren’t sure if you wanted him to stay.</p>
<p>“I love you,” he said quickly, seemingly sensing that you were going to turn him down. “I- I know you think that’s stupid, that it doesn’t mean anything, but it means something to me.”</p>
<p>His heart was beating out of his chest. Or maybe it was your heart. You looked at your feet to avoid Warren’s eyes.</p>
<p>“Look y/n, I know you don’t need me,” said Warren softly. “But you- you cared about me, you liked me even though you didn’t know me. You didn’t know me before and you still welcomed me even though I was all… sharp and metal.”</p>
<p>You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. You took a second to weigh your options. You had already gone back to living your life without him, and it hurt, but you felt like if you gave yourself enough time it would get better.</p>
<p>If you let him in, if you decided to try to share your life with him, it would make you 20x more emotionally vulnerable. You could get hurt, and end up way worse than you were right now. Or- you could end up happy. You could have someone to share everything with. To make you happy on your bad days and to share your good days with. Someone to care about you.</p>
<p>“Okay,” you said. You silently cursed yourself for the decision you were about to make.</p>
<p>Warren raised an eyebrow. “Okay?”</p>
<p>“Okay.” You opened your front door a little wider. “Come in.”</p>
<p>Warren looked at you up and down, unsure if you meant what you said. He remained standing on your doorstep with butterflies in his stomach.</p>
<p>You blinked. You weren’t sure what to do. “Please?”</p>
<p>Warren’s lips slowly formed a smile, but you were too busy studying your feet to notice.</p>
<p>“We can try it or whatever,” you murmured. “It doesn’t have to be-“</p>
<p>Suddenly, Warren grabbed you by the waist and spun you around with a laugh. He was happy.  His expression was warm and bright.  </p>
<p>You let out a yelp of surprise. “War!” You called him by a nickname.  You did it without thinking, almost as if it was a reflex.  </p>
<p>He pulled you into his arms, holding you in a tight embrace.  You hesitated before wrapping your arms around him, allowing yourself to be held by him.  </p>
<p>Your guard was completely down.  You were completely vulnerable.  It felt right in the moment, but you knew it might not feel right later.  “This might not be for you,” you whispered cautiously, your chest still pressed against his.  “It might not be for us.”</p>
<p>“I know,” he said softly.  “But we can try.” </p>
<p>~    </p>
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